


For a word, a tender gesture

by Saecookie



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Human, Bodyguard Nine, F/M, Meet-Cute, Smitten Nine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saecookie/pseuds/Saecookie
Summary: At first, he's annoyed by that blonde girl coming to the back stage door at every Jimmy Stone's concert. But she's got a smile the size of the sun, and she's never bothering him.He's just the popstar's bodyguard.No need to think about her smile, about her kindness, about her safety.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 32
Kudos: 86





	For a word, a tender gesture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aintfraidanoghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aintfraidanoghosts/gifts).



> Hello everyone ! This is a gift for the very darling, very talented, and very loved [Aintfraidanoghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aintfraidanoghosts/pseuds/Aintfraidanoghosts) who got herself a new job. Well done love ♥.  
> Thanks so much to [Rose_Nebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Nebula/pseuds/Rose_Nebula) and [dd_wings_dd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dd_wings_dd/pseuds/dd_wings_dd) who beta'd in record time. You both are a gift to this world.
> 
> If someone's interested, the title comes from a Michel Berger's song called _["La groupie du pianiste"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnV1HauwkxY)_ who tells the story of a woman who keeps waiting for a selfish musician to notice her.
> 
>  **CW :** there's a very slight, offscreen, non graphic mention of attempted assault.

Objectively, Jimmy Stone had everything to make people envious, everything to be loved. The young, bright, next rising pop star. He had chiseled features, a mop of ash blonde hair styled in such a way that it didn’t look too elaborate, a charming press smile. He had the looks, the fame, the money. And he always, _always_ took time for his fans after his concerts. Everyone loved him. In a year, the entire world would know his face.

Subjectively… John didn’t like him one bit. In all honesty, that wasn’t even a rare occurrence, being a bodyguard for all kinds of people. He was good at his job, which meant he usually had to ensure the security of fairly wealthy people. Sometimes _very_ wealthy. If it wasn’t the case for Jimmy Stone yet, it soon would be. But John hadn’t needed to wait and see to find him sleazy. To see the lecherous, privileged twenty-something man behind the facade, who as soon as he was out of recording session was abusing every system, or sometimes the occasional fan, when he got too high in his trailer.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to like him to do his job well. Bring him from A to B without accident, avoid crowded places where he could be recognized, shelter him from the press. Except for the rare request for a detour, they barely nodded to one another in the mornings and in the evenings. He liked it better that way.

What he could have done without, while working for Jimmy Stone, were the actual public appearances. The public management. Being overcautious everytime an interview was announced and parting crowds to get to red carpets. Keeping watch of the man’s house’s main entrance or waiting backstage during concerts because some fans were ready to skip the show to get a chance to talk to their idol.

Those were the worst. The singer’s fanbase was mostly in the grunge scene, with his most avid fans being young adults. That made John’s work even harder. They were overzealous and overlooked their own safety to try and get to the man. Some of them were ready to fight him in order to get what they wanted. They never won, but John would have gladly avoided twisting arms into backs and hurting people altogether.

Lately, one small group was present to every scene the man was performing at. Three girls and a boy. The latter was usually sulking, so maybe he was just here to accompany the girls. They always arrived early at the stage door, albeit still after the beginning of the show, as if they had enjoyed the first few songs before moving toward the back entrance and getting a chance to see Stone. However their little group somehow always got pushed aside and behind. John had watched a couple of times how their fierce solidarity toward each other had prevented them from getting back in the first row, because they wouldn’t let go of one another. Apparently, either they saw him together, or not at all. It was nice of them, but that wouldn’t get them anywhere. And yet, they still showed up show after show.

* * *

John started to get annoyed when he spotted one of them at the Starbucks Stone went daily to get coffee. It was the blonde one. She wasn’t doing anything ominous, like some other stalker he had had to deal with in the past; but it was enough to keep an eye on it. She kept stealing glances at Stone and then hastily looked down at her expresso, her hair falling in a curtain, hiding her rosy blush and her delighted, dazed smile. It was kind of cute. She stayed on her stool the whole time. John didn’t think more of it.

* * *

At the next concert, the blonde girl was alone. She was also the first one backstage, even before the show had started. No-one was around except for John, who sighed warily, for he wouldn’t have the luxury to relax before the usual crowd showed up. He frowned, squared his shoulders, and waited until Stone made an appearance later that night.

The same thing happened at the next concert. She still came alone. This one was a big venue, the concert wouldn’t end soon. The girl had sat on a concrete block and was scrolling endlessly on her phone. The blue light was illuminating her features, and every so often she would beam, maybe at a meme, or at a silly text, and it would be such a wide, eye-reaching smile, it would brighten the whole street. 

Once, she smiled softly and raised her head to the sky, drew a breath. 

John had to consciously make an effort to look away. He brought his finger to the hem of his leather jacket to distract himself. To focus back to ensuring security backstage. In this very peaceful, deserted street. Where there was just this girl with a lovely smile.

She got to see Stone that night. He took a selfie with her, held her waist, kissed her cheek. John tried not to think anything of it. It wasn’t as if her smile had been too bright, had seemed too true. It wasn’t that Stone’s had been press practiced, leaning a bit too much on charming. She was just a fan. Not even the one Stone had brought to his hotel room that night. He tried not to be relieved. No harm had been done. _To Stone._ He had done his job well for yet another day.

* * *

When she arrived once again alone and before the beginning of the next show, John’s first reaction was to be annoyed. Didn’t she have anything better to do? Didn’t she have a life to live? Obviously, he was just concerned for his boss’ security. After all, she might be a stalker, considering the Starbucks situation. Of course, this had nothing to do with the growing unease John felt toward the man, or with wanting the girl far from Stone. Nothing to do with some kind of _fondness._ Nothing at all.

* * *

The fourth time she arrived, alone, they nodded to each other. Where were her friends? Wouldn’t she be in danger, going home alone? 

Then she smiled before taking her spot against the opposite wall and pullingher phone out. Something in him settled. 

That night, he kept watching her. He kept _watch_ . Like he should have, because it was his _bloody job_.

* * *

The next concert was a big one. One with a significant line before the doors opened. John had been busy checking and re-checking every door and floor and corridor and other things that rhymed. When he finally made his way out to the small, unavoidable crowd that would already have gathered, he looked for her. She wasn’t on the other side of the street, nor sitting on the nearby bench. She wasn’t around. He scanned the gathering. There were blondes alright, but none as pretty as her.

None that was her, at least. No need to be a creep.

He kept watching out for her all night. At one point, he almost missed one overconfident boy who tried to sneak in - John caught him all the same. He still was good enough at his job, thank you very much.

When Stone got out, sweaty and brattish and so very pleased with himself, she still wasn’t there.

He didn’t worry.

(He did.)

He didn’t look out for blonde curtains and rosy cheeks the next day at Starbucks.

(He did.)

He didn’t care for wide smiles and breathy laughs in the streets.

(Well.)

He hated Stone more by the minute.

When the PR team had to cover up for the star’s latest misconducts with a groupie, just before an interview, John hoped wistfully he would never see the girl again.

* * *

Of course, she was there next time. It was the sixth concert since he had noticed her. Somehow, that had become his new time scale.

He looked at her, her slumped shoulders, her tired eyes.

"You weren’t there last time."

Smooth. So smooth.

Well. He didn’t want to be smooth. Merely inquiring to assuage worries he hadn’t had. What if it had come out gruff and out of the blue?

"Mhm.... No?"

She ducked her head but didn’t look away. She wasn’t cold, but there was something hard, something ready to fight in her posture.

He shrugged.

"Noticed you around lately, that’s all. Now you’re alone and then you weren’t there."

Who was the stalker, now? He was lucky enough no-one was around this early.

"Yeah, I couldn’t make it."

She didn’t elaborate, and that was a good thing, because she didn’t owe him anything. She held her ground. They kept looking at each other. There wasn’t much more to say.

Well, there was “ _Why are you here each time?_ ”, “ _Why are you wasting time over this sleazy douchebag?_ ”, “ _Isn’t it dangerous to go back home in the middle of the night?_ ”. There wasn’t “ _Do you need a ride back home safe?_ ”, “ _So what’s your name?_ ”. There definitely wasn’t “ _Would you like coffee with me tomorrow?_ ”.

Instead, she gave him one last, long look. John didn’t shift on his left foot, not at all. He was a grown-up man who could bear a little looking up.

And then she broke into a smile.

He had seen her smile. He had seen her numerous smiles. Maybe he had catalogued them. Nothing could compare to being the recipient of her wide, bright smile.

Her tongue poked at her lips.

He was done. 

He didn’t even know her name.

* * *

She was delightful. She was all laughs and smiles and cheek. She was bright and sharp and dead funny. She got a blush when she talked about Jimmy Stone. She wasn’t a girl, as she was twenty-three. Her name was Rose.

Each of her words had his breath hostage.

At one point, she brought coffee.

"You mentioned… Plain black coffee, one milk ?"

"Yep. Plain, that’s me."

She shoved him with her shoulder. It was the first contact they ever made. He definitely didn’t notice it was their first ever contact.

"There’s nothing plain about you. Go on, take it. It’s cold here, I figured…" She looked around and shrugged, as if it was enough of an explanation.

John took the proffered cup. “Thank you, Rose.” He looked at her, sipping at the beverage, not too hot due to the time it took to get here. It was perfect.

He tried not to dwell too much on that. 

She could hide her rosy cheeks behind her hair when she bent to sip at her coffee cup, when the air became chilly with the upcoming winter. John on the other hand couldn’t use his own cup to hide the raging blush on the tip of his ears. He had to pray every deity he didn’t believe in that she never noticed it.

They had started talking after that sixth time. She would lean against the wall next to him, her posture way more relaxed than his, straight like a rod and looking over the surrounding area. He would steal glances at the crown of her head when he would hear the click of her phone unlocking. They would talk of this and that, her friends, her ride to come to the current venue, her job. Never his.

They kept smiling at each other while drinking in silence. If she did look at him with something more than innocent mirth, he didn’t see it.

* * *

In the next month, it became a routine. They saw each other once, some rare times twice a week. Two or three hours in the dead of night, waiting for her idol. 

John didn’t dare think “their routine”.

At some point, she stopped trying to make her way to the front row of fans waiting for Stone. She started to stand out in the clubbing crowd, coming more and more in loose trousers and soft hoodies rather than skin tight clothes and high heels.

At some point, she was waiting for him with their drinks even before he got out.

At some point, she put some distance between the crowd and them. They would comment on the newcomers, those who didn’t know the dance to get the popstar’s attention, those who were trying too hard, those who were Stone’s favourite. “Look at him, he’s so young! Oh gosh, I wish I could teach him how to do some proper eyeliner.” John barely chuckled, pointing at those who were likely to turn into low-level stalkers. He had never mingled in this world, and wasn’t ready to start now. Rose’s tone was light and playful as if she wasn’t one of them. 

Somehow, she wasn’t anymore.

Maybe she was in his world now.

* * *

One night, after complaining about a particularly rough evening shift, she leaned on his side and proceeded to promptly doze off on his shoulder.

"Rose ? Is your cup empty?"

Her coffee cup was dangling from her fingers, ready to fall to the ground. “Mpf. Take it. London fog. You’ll like it.” And with that, she scrunched her nose and shoved quite forcefully the cup in his chest. He chuckled.

"Ok precious girl, let’s try it."

He brought it unthinkingly to his lips, tasting the lukewarm beverage. It was actually quite good, even if a bit on the sweeter side.

He was alone when the use of the epithet registered later that night.

(On the other side of London, a blonde woman was replaying it in loop to get asleep. Her rosy cheeks had nothing to do with a forgotten singer anymore.)

* * *

One day, Jimmy Stone saw her. Properly saw her, not just another fan in the crowd to take a selfie with. Which was fortunate, as she wasn’t even in the crowd, hadn’t been for a long while now. But when the swarm of teenagers and young adults had worn off, the man had stauntered toward them.

John still kept a careful look on their surroundings at every time. He was still working his best job. He wasn’t about to have his head turned by the first pretty face showing itself around.

(Although Rose was so much more than a pretty face. She was a light, the warmth in his belly, the thought before he went to bed. She was a stream in the summer nights and her warm hands around his when the chill hit. She knew his coffee order - how had all this happened? How had she become the center of his whole focus in a few months? He had seen it coming; he had just chosen to ignore it.)

"Hey babe, you’re not new around are you?"

The guy was totally oblivious. John had to call up all of his professional persona to not pull a nasty face at him, or move closer to Rose. 

"Got a name? Or can I just call you my own?"

John watched with horror as Stone wiggled his brows. Then looked over Rose. She was still coming to his venue. Technically, she could make the most of that opportunity with her long-time idol.

But Rose was at loss for words at first, her expression blank. Then, John noticed the very careful schooling of her features, the slight interrogation in her frown, the uncertainty of a long-time crush.

She looked at John.

He was stuck on the spot. He wanted to offer her his hand in front of adversity. Was _this_ adversity?

Rose lowered her face. Her hair had gotten longer, it hid her well when it fell in front of her head. It was a disturbing mirror of the first time he saw her blushing because of one Jimmy Stone.

"I mean, you could? The name’s Rose, by the way."

"Cool. Hey, what do you say, we’re having this afterparty in my lobby. Wanna come? You’d be my _personal guest_ , of course."

Everything was stilted and frozen. John knew the afterparty. John knew of the easygoing fans Stone took to those. John knew of the different cover-ups the PR had had to do. John knew some faces he never saw again backstage. John knew Rose and wanted her safe and carefree and drinking coffee against a dingy wall in a narrow street, he wanted her heat against his side.

Were those good enough reasons to take her arm and keep her here?

She was a grown-up woman. She knew how to hold her ground. She knew what she wanted. And even if it was a teenage crush, it was still her choice. John tried to not look at her. He didn’t trust himself to not be pleading. He didn’t trust himself not to take her hand and squeeze.

His job, too, was at stake. He knew pretty well how moody Stone could be.

He couldn’t care less.

But Rose. He cared for her. For her opinion. For her choices. He discreetly stepped to the side.

So much for discreet: Rose shot him a look that lasted only a fraction of a second. It was enough to know that she had seen him. Then she looked away, not at Jimmy, not at the ground. Once again, she drew a breath, looked at the sky. Unlike the first time, she didn’t smile. It was the worst thing to happen, to lose Rose Tyler’s smile. She was supposed to be all happy smiles and teasing smiles and tongue-touched smiles and laughing smiles and thoughtful smiles.

She squeezed his arm and cocked her head toward Jimmy. “Yeah, totally, that would be so cool!” Even that cheerfulness was foreign to his ears. Had he been blind? Had he read too much into this? Not enough? Was she just passing time? Had he taken upon the London fog tea order for nothing?

He didn’t care about any of it. _Was she in danger? Was she in danger with Stone?_

  
  


The roaring and pulsing music was echoing all the way down the hall of the penthouse. He felt the low waves reverberating through his skull and his bones and his blood was pumping to another wild rhythm. _What was he supposed to do_ but pace in front of the entrance door. He was like a wolf walking in circles in a cage. He could become a bad one in an instant.

For the first time, he wasn’t doing his job properly. He wasn’t outside. He wasn’t looking out for potential intruders.

He was here and he made _a choice_ and he was going to look for her like she had been looking for him. For his health and his warmth and his loneliness and the devoidness somewhere around his mind. She had cared for the colours that had to be added to his perception and for the will to look forward to next time, whatever that meant. 

She didn’t deserve-

If he as much as laid a finger-

One hair out of place and-

A door slammed shut.

He made the fastest u-turn of his entire life - and he had had to protect Emma Watson once in his career.

She was there. Every hair in place. Not a redness on her skin. No tears.

Her cardigan was open though, one sleeve slipped down her shoulder. Her cardigan had been buttoned up the last time he had seen her.

She looked straight up at him. Her lips parted. She kept staring. No smile, no openness, no spark.

"Oh Rose…"

The words hadn’t even left his mouth that he was striding toward her, and before he knew it John was engulfing her in the softest yet closest hug he could. He felt her tense at first, then relax. It seemed that she was going to lean on him.

She sagged against his chest.

"I… He… I had to leave. I…"

"Ssh, ssh love. You don’t have to explain."

He stopped. It wasn’t as bad as, say, an open article of clothing, but he still hadn’t asked to touch her in such a way.

"Is this ok? I can leave you be if you’d rather…"

"No!" Her hands came up against his chest, his cold leather armour, and gripped. “No. It’s okay. It’s… it’s good.”

"Ok love. Let’s get you out of here."

Rose chanced a look behind her, toward that blasted door from which music was still coming undisturbed. It was as if nothing had happened, as if it was trivial, as if it was _a recurring occurrence._

She visibly suppressed a chill, and gulped. Such a strong woman. John squeezed her forearms, instead of doing something forbidden like crushing her against him and putting his face in the crook of her neck, to feel her close, to feel her safe (to feel her fit in the circle of his arms).

He guided her toward the elevator, then out the lobby to an unassuming black car. He opened the door for her. When she hesitated to get in, he raised an eyebrow at her, his hand still on her arm.

It was a wonder how they had developed this non verbal language in such a short time. Being around loud venues and crowds would do this, apparently. Nothing to do with a profound friendship.

"What is it?"

"Are you sure, John?" Her voice was still wavering, uncertain. “Shouldn’t you be… Staying around or something? You shouldn’t leave before the end of your shift.”

She shouldn’t have been so caring, so worried on his behalf. She was shaken and in shock and was still looking after him as she had all these weeks about his cold hands and sulky face.

In the spur of the moment, his hand rose to cup her cheek. “Rose. I don’t care. He could blow the flat up and I wouldn’t care. Right now, you’re important. I shouldn’t leave you before the end of your road.”

She kept silent. Then she leaned into his palm, a secret smile playing on her face. No tongue in sight; but it was ok. It was reserved for bright, sunny occasions. These days would come. John chose the boldest road so far: he kissed the top of her head.

When Rose was finally folded in the passenger seat and John put his hand on the gearstick, her hand covered his. Sharp breaths were shared, looking forward through the windshield.

Then, in a very small voice: “Thank you, John.”

How could he tell him that he would never be able to thank her enough for everything she was?

* * *

In the end, John did lose his job. 

Well, _that_ job. He didn’t really care. At 37, he had enough significant experiences on his resume to go on with life. He had never liked Stone to begin with. Which happened fairly often when you worked in close quarters with this kind of wealth, but Stone had been pretty bad.

In the end, Rose asked John out for coffee.

He got to order for her this time (London fog, extra milk). He got to stare at her face without having to look down every time she would meet his eyes. Her face was a lesson in light. He could have stayed in the busy café for a whole year. He got the rosy cheeks and the wits and the tongue-touched smile and the easy banter without hiding behind her hair. He got to squeeze her against his side. He got to hold the hand that wasn’t against her cup.

In the end, they stayed way past their drink.

A slow, open smile started on Rose’s lips and ended up in John’s eyes.

In the end, they kissed. They went to concerts. They met after work. They made their schedule match. They went grocery shopping. They had drinks. They held hands. They smiled. They talked.

In the end, they moved in together. Somewhere along the way, John’s cheek met Rose’s mother’s hand.

In the end, Rose was still light and life and love.

(In the end, Rose loved him at least as much.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ! I hope you liked it : ) !


End file.
